The Cruel winter fishing. Chapter 8

Белоусов Андрей Викторович
THE CRUEL WINTER FISHING

Everything Cardan does in his life, he does it his way. His life is full of excitement and adventure. Time and again he feels like he has seized on luck and firmly holds it in his hands. The desired goal is achieved and there is nothing left for him to strive for. But a constant hangover in the morning is a demonstration of an eternal unattainability of such a cherished aim. He understands the futility of his efforts to solve the problem once and for all. The question arises: what for? How would he live if there were no longer a goal in his life to which he should strive and constantly spin around? Thus one day gives way to another, year by year life fades away. How it would be gray and boring, if not for adventure, accompanied by perseverance, desire, faith in his strength, cunning and resourcefulness. Some people think that it is a pleasure to feel that you are smarter than others, providing that you manage to conceal your arrogance, outwardly always remain friendly, sympathetic and benevolent. However, such a social attitude requires great inner concentration, will, and inexhaustible energy. It is hard even for Cardan, let alone any one else.
   
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Winter has come. Life in the village has slowed down. There are only a few people in the streets: the rest of them stay at home. It`s hard to meet anybody in the village to talk to and to catch up on local news. One ought to go to the shop - only there he can come across someone.

Winter is the most difficult time of the year. And not only for cold weather but also for the lack of communication. And what would people do in the village without television - the only entertainment in life. They know the background of many state politicians. They know who has got an expensive car, luxurious house, huge apartment, beautiful wife and everything in-between. They are interested in what the politicians do, what kind of positive change they promise to bring about, what sort of changes are good for the country and what are bad, what a candidate they should vote for, and what a candidate they shouldn't... Sometimes you listen to such a rural political expert and marvel at the abundance of information that he has got about our politicians. Of course, here credit is given to television: it is truly a window to the world. For a great number of people this is the only way to stay sane. Once I was put to shame by a humble villager. He appeared to have been much more familiarized with the political life in our country than I, who was an inhabitant of the capital city.

In winter the days are short. It hardly gets dark when the whole family runs to the television. Each of them takes a seat in front of the blue screen; they hold their breaths, worrying about the characters of their favorite soap operas.
"Switch to the fifth channel," shouts someone of the family, a fan of politics, "the news is already on."
"Switch back to the soap opera," demands an impatient lover of romantic films as soon as the news is over.
Man is so created, that he has an inborn feeling of caring for others. So he cannot live without worrying about broken lives of unhappy people. In fact, he does not really have to help anybody or give money away to the destitute - it is totally free. So it's impossible to keep such a sufferer away from other people's sorrow. It seems to be pleasant to worry about other people in your head when you do not have any real obligations.
"Switch back, there is a political debate," insists an armchair politician.

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A fan of love dramas wants to continue watching the film and she reproaches political experts for being heartless. "We have a heart. We worry about the whole of Ukraine," they exclaim.

Finally, the majority wins and the TV set is switched to another channel to watch the debate. It turns out that here the development of events is no less intense, than in the soap opera and even the fan of amorous affairs is involved in a political discussion. The promises of the politicians are pouring like milk and honey from heaven for the miserable. They promise to control the prices, to raise the pensions and salaries, to rebuild the factories, to revive the agriculture. The viewers absorb sweet information with dropped jaws. Gradually, they become adherents of one or another party; the whole family is divided into two camps: one is for an accession to Europe, the other one to Russia. Heads of the audience are heated with arguments, which leads to a confrontation in the end. Noise, screams, family squabble. At last they splash out their emotions, pout their lips at one another and go to bed with revolutionary thoughts. At night the most ardent armchair politician dreams about how he speaks from the rostrum, how he waves his arms, and how he directs the rebellious crowd to restore justice. Encouraged by the speech of the young promising orator, people are building their own new world, razing the old one to the ground.

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Cardan had been prowling around, trying to turn something up. His collar upturned against piercing wind. His legs got stiff, his eyelids got covered with hoarfrost and his body began trembling as if from a horrible fright. He stamped his feet in an attempt to keep warm, "Yes, it wouldn't be bad to have a spin around and get warm," he thought, observing the working process of the farmer's family in the yard over the fence.

The work was in full swing. Cardan overheard some snatches of conversation about the lack of fodder. He waved his hand and cried out, "Excuse me! The miller has sent me to you. He is fishing on the local pond. It seems that the devil himself made him go fishing in such a horrible weather. I wouldn't like to be in his shoes now. He begged of me to go to you and ask for a bottle of vodka. The rumor mill spilled out that you need fodder for your cattle. He will make it up to you by grinding a sack of wheat into flour. You can approach him any time and he will be happy to see you and help you out," said Cardan, trembling with cold.

"You say he'll grind grain into flour. Yes, you're right! That offer might come in handy. There're so many things you need for your household and these days they aren't easy to come by."

It stands to reason that the farmer could not refuse the miller in such a dire situation, in such freezing weather; and it would have been foolish to miss the opportunity to use his services. For a sheer smallness of soul and a hog trough behavior there was no one like him in the village. Cardan was aware of his weakness, so he took advantage of it.

The man rushed into the house shining with joy. A moment later he ran out to Cardan with a bottle of vodka. There was something undeniably odd about him. The idea of his missing out on the bargain was preposterous.
"Here you are. There's also a snack in the bag. And tell him that tomorrow I'll come to the mill with a sack of grain."
He gave Cardan grateful yet dismissive smile.

Cardan grabbed the bag and melted discreetly away. He felt a pleasant burn of the alcohol in his stomach and uttered his famous words, challenging, it seemed, the frost itself, "It's vital to keep spinning around. A driveshaft (cardan in Ukrainian) rotates - the car is moved."

The next day the farmer loaded a sack of grain on a bicycle and rode to the mill. With an important gait and a benign look on his face he approached the miller. “Did Cardan bring you a bottle of vodka and a snack? As agreed, I`m here with a sack of grain to grind." He smiled complacently.
The miller was caught off guard to the point of stammering for an answer.
"What the heck are you talking about? What the frigging vodka, what the grain, what does Cardan have to do with it?"
"Doesn't yesterday's fishing ring any bell with you?" the farmer reminded him.
The miller was taken by surprise. "Never in my life have I gone fishing in winter," he exhausted his vocabulary with the last expression and was able to add nothing more.
The man was ready to bark back, but kept his temper.
"Oh, my goodness, he has cheated me!" a belated awareness of his unforgivable blunder was driven home to him.

Never before had he been humiliated so deeply, nor he had suspected that he might be so vulnerable. He was totally embarrassed by his mistake because he was used to respect. People had always listened to his political wisdom. He had always been in the thick of things and given his wise advice to others who they should vote for. He had always been on the horse: magnificent and proud. Now he was absolutely crushed. His greatest fear was that nobody might take him seriously and listen to his political advice anymore after such a dreadful slip. He felt like running away from the mill, fleeing from an indelible disgrace that crept up so unobtrusively.
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The farmer furiously loaded the sack of grain back onto the bicycle and rode home clenching his teeth with cold and anger. He was at his wit's end. The same words were reverberating in his head, "Oh, swindler! Oh, bastard! Oh, con man! How can people be trusted after that? No sooner you have a pity on someone and help them out, than you immediately run into trouble. I won't leave it like that, I'll have my revenge one day. I've seen murder committed for a lot less. If you let them get away with one thing, there would be no end to it. Next time I will be more cautious," he consoled himself and gave the bicycle a go, pushing harder on the pedals.

A cold wind blew into his face, which pleasantly cooled the hot, filled with thoughts head of the naive farmer. Why now, on a snowy afternoon, when everyone was full of Christmas spirit? He was offended and ashamed of the fact that he, such an excellent expert in politics, was taken for a fool like a child. And by whom? By stupid Cardan!

The snow cracked rhythmically under the wheels of the bicycle, constantly interrupting sad thoughts and acting distractedly. Finally, the farmer managed to acquit himself completely for his peace of mind, "Everything happens for a reason." An arrogant grin twisted his face. "Never mind, next time I'll be smarter. I will have the upper hand some day. Experience is the best teacher."
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